"DO grandpa's cows chew gum, like Mr. Connor's cows, mamma?" asked Johnny, a few days ago, as he stood emptying his pockets of hay-seed on the dining-room carpet, after a visit to the barn. "Cuds you mean, don't you, dear?" asked mamma. "No, gum. Mr. Connor says it's gum; and they're his cows: so he knows." "No, grandpa's cows chew cuds, like all good grass-eating cows. Perhaps Mr. Connor's cows do not eat grass or hay." "Yes, they do," said Johnny. "I've seen 'em." "Well, then," said mamma, "they must chew cuds." "What are cuds, mamma?" "Why, after the cow has chewed the fresh green grass or the dry hay in her mouth, she sends it down into a large stomach, to be soaked; then she sends it into another stomach, to be rolled into balls; then up it goes into her mouth again, to be chewed over; and each little ball is a cud." "Doesn't she have any other stomach for it to go into then, mamma?" "Yes, two more. Do you have four stomachs, like a cow?" "No, of course I don't. I don't chew cuds." "Well, you may get a brush and dust-pan, and brush up that hay-seed from the carpet; then come with me, and I'll show you a picture of a giant kangaroo with her baby in a fur bag." "Oh! where does she live, mamma?" "Brush up that hay-seed, then I'll tell you all about her," said mamma. With this promise in view, Johnny hastened to brush up the litter he had made, talking to himself the while, somewhat after this wise,-- "Chew away, old cow! You'll have to keep your big teeth going all night to keep all those stomachs at work. One stomach, two stomachs, three-e-e, four-r-r. All ready, mamma!" MRS. G. I. HOPKINS. A CAT STORY. DID you ever see a cat laugh? Look at the cat in the picture, and see if she is not laughing. It is plain to me that she is. What is she laughing at? Why, that is plain enough too. She is amused at the talk of those two little girls about her kittens. There are four kittens,--just two for each; but little Jenny wants to take them all up in her arms, though she can hardly hold more than one. This is what pleases the old cat. Now I am going to tell you a cat story. Once, when I taught school in the country, I boarded at farmer Clark's house, where there were sixteen cats,--Yes, sixteen cats! There was a big yellow cat, and a big gray cat, and a big black-and-white cat, and lots of little kittens. The big gray cat was named Gussy. She was the grandmother of them all. She lived in the house. The rest staid around the barn. Farmer Clark was a good man, and did not believe in killing any thing that was not dangerous to life or property. So no little kittens were drowned, if he knew it. Mrs. Clark taught me how to make butter; and I was told to feed the skimmed milk to the cats. There were two large dish-pans that I used for this purpose. They were shallow and leaky; but precious little time there was for the milk to leak. [Illustration]